


The Playground, The Parlour

by cloverkid



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Self-Doubt, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22109959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverkid/pseuds/cloverkid
Summary: If Uriel hadn't been looking for a reaction, it would have gone completely unnoticed. It was subtle, but your shoulders had definitely stiffened.He leans in closer, a wide grin plastered on his face. "What do you think?""..I think you should watch the road.""Hm." Uriel studies your face a bit before retracting, the monotone expression on his face again.The interrogation had come to an end. You spend the rest of the journey facing the window, disturbed.
Relationships: Coin & Joy, Uriel/Coin
Kudos: 1





	The Playground, The Parlour

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning to an unsatisfying, miserable adventure.

Your earliest memory was being carried over someone's shoulder, wrapped in a white cloth. You had drowsily peeked out to exhale into the cold air that stung your face and gazed upon the large metal gates that served as the entrance to the Playground.

This was also the kindest memory you had retained, a remembrance of the only time someone had not struck nor shrieked at you for failing to reach the daily quota.

An echo of a hard slap distilled the air, and you - barely 8 years old - shrunk deeper into yourself. Your cheek is swollen, red and stinging in hot pain. It was hard to breathe in the stench of gore and vomit from the other unfortunate youths who were also unsuccessful in clearing their assignments.

You cry out silently. _Am I being punished, Lord?_ Something had burst on the twenty-third lash. _What for?_

The fact that you were still alive in this awful place was purely due to luck. The fact that you were still alive, also incredibly unfortunate.

* * *

"Good! You're still here."

You look up to see someone who you've never seen before in your life. She looks no different than any other children in the room - thin, more bone than flesh, peppered in dirt and bruises. The girl with disheveled khaki locks and clad in a bright yellow raincoat examines you with beautiful black eyes, and unexpectedly shoves a hand into your face.

It takes a couple of seconds for you to realize she wanted you to take her hand. You gawk stupidly.

"Come _on_ , Mum's been looking for us." she says in a _hurry-up_ kind of tone, almost frustrated that you're taking so long.

And you almost believe her. You almost give her a chance to whisk you away from here. A chill runs down your spine as you become aware of all the eyes focusing on you, watching- _waiting_ anxiously for you to make a decision. Others envied you, their gazes stabbed you icily, full of malice. Their glares tugged and clawed at your hand, harshly pulling it back.

"Stop, stop!" she screams at them, and reaches out to jerk your hand away from the shadows. "Don't lay a finger on my brother!"

Your eyes widened and felt wet, and suddenly you were being led through the Playground corridor, one trembling step at a time. You're wiping off your tears with a very wet sleeve and the other in her hand.

* * *

Many years later, Joy taught you how to weave a flower crown and craft paper dolls. She also taught you how to sell them for a single Ducat each.

You were seventy-nine Ducats short to buy the bread, but Joy didn't have to know that.

Pick-pocketing wasn't the ideal source of income. Many times it was too risky, too out in the open with not enough people to hide between to be able to lift a billfold from an unsuspecting pocket. If you were caught, you could be sent back without Joy ever knowing where you disappeared to.

She would be devastated.

The next single thought comes to you as a stab in the chest as you're counting the money from the stolen item. If it had been anyone else sitting at that corner, would she have picked them instead?

You stop thinking about it, and it doesn't keep you up for ten nights.

* * *

Today, there had been a small kitten, abandoned in the rubbish near their home. You brought it home with you, excited to present something so delightful to Joy.

She loved it. She named it Neume and the tiny critter kept her company when you were away to procure more provisions.

"Father never liked cats, he thought they were dirty," Joy begins; another short story to finish.

"No, he didn't." you play along and set down the soapy dish, taking a moment to think. "Mother would still feed the strays, without him knowing."

"And there would be more and more cats at our door each day." Joy giggles, flawlessly fitting an uneven piece into the puzzle.

_.. and Father found out and decided to feed them together._

_.. and Father poisoned their food to kill them all._

_.. and_ _Father_ _struck Mum_ _for her actions._

The options you had to choose from, the endless possibilities were only obstructed by your ability to fantasize. It had been overwhelming in the beginning. Now, pretending was too easy. Lying became a necessary skill to keep her spirits up in trying times.

"The white one was her favorite, the mamma kit." Joy seamlessly takes your turn when you don't and has a soft expression on her face, reminiscing a memory that had never existed to begin with. "I know 'cause she put my ribbon on it."

* * *

"Yesterday Joy called me by a name," you say, picking out your next words with uncertainty and hesitation gnawing at your fingertips. "It was her brother's."

Aesir, not really looking at you, raises a brow.

"Her _real_ brother." you correct yourself tersely, and Aeisr's mouth forms into an 'o'.

"The one that died?" she adds, frowning. You watch her submerge the rags into the bucket for a few seconds before pulling it back up to choke the water out.

"You're afraid that Joy's using you as a replacement for Neume."

Aesir had easily arranged your scattered thoughts into one sentence. You're slightly stunned at the blunt revelation, but not enough to let it show on your face.

"A bit." you confess in a voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know anymore. When she says she loves me.. does she mean _me?_ Or.."

Aesir inhales deeply through her nose, her sympathy garnering at the face. "Joy.. kind of lost it after he died."

She continues. "Couldn't tell who was who and what was real or not. I'm not sure if she knows exactly who you are or if she thinks you’re Neume himself, but she definitely still loves you for _you_. If you know what I mean."

You pursed your lips. She was right. Selfish jealousy aside, it was you who she has a brother for now and nothing else should have mattered.

“Yeah, I think I get it,” the corner of your lips turned upwards, the heavy feeling residing into a deep slumber. “Thank you Aesir.”

* * *

Today, Joy had found work at a five-star hotel, in Divura. She made enough to feed both of them for a month in just one day. You told her she didn't have to do it, that you were supposed to keep them fed. But they would have never let you in, with your unkempt appearance and torn rags.

"It's ultra-posh," she blithely tells you as she shows off a frock adorned with pretty jewels and beads. "They gave me this! Isn't it cute?"

You nod in awe, reaching out to touch the fabric. It was silk smooth and rich in colour.

 _"_ There was so much food; anyone can eat all they wanted― in fancy dress!" She rambles on with a glimmer of light in her eyes, dreamy as ever. "Everything was polished marble! The walls, the floor - and there's also this grand chandelier in the main hall.."

You close your eyes to listen and sink into her paradise.

* * *

You were going to escort Joy home today. It was Christmas Eve, after all. There were bundles of gifts for her that you had prepared back home, and you looked forward to watching her unwrap them and seeing her jubilant expressions. Except..

"What happened here?" you ask, staring at the flashing red-blue beacons surrounding the main entrance.

"Just 'nother crazy whore," the guard drawls, taking a small sip before continuing. "Stabbed her client with a bottle and jumped out the window."

"Oh," you hadn't expected that. Hopefully Joy hadn't been too caught up in the incident. "What about the rest of the workers?"

"Hopin' to get a day off for it." he half laughs, half burps at his own humorless joke. "Why, your sister don' satisfy you enough?"

Unamused, you refrain from asking any further and make your way through the crowd. You slip out from the side to take the shortcut, hopping over a fence easily. When you're on the other side, you're taken aback at how the badly the moldy, rusty back-of-house contrasted the rest of the polished building.

You find Joy crouching down on the grass behind the post, her shoulders shaking violently as she retched out wine and sobs. She's okay.

You argued, no, something happened. What's wrong? What happened? Are you-

She's _fine_.

Stunned, you stay silent in the same position with her for hours before she wipes the last tear off and again coldly suggests that you should go home, she just had too much to drink, she was fine.

And like an idiot, you believe her. You leave alone.

* * *

It was early dawn. The sun wasn't even fully up yet, only peering wistfully over the horizon.

You distinctively remember seeing the back of Joy's head entering the taxi before she headed out to work. No words were exchanged. She didn't even look back.

Around the time you finish delivering a package for Aesir, you receive a call from a man with a thick accent.

Your sister - Joy is found dead, 10 miles away on the grounds of Barrenhive's 3-star brothel.

You fall to your knees.

Later, you absently wonder if anything you could have said that morning might have prevented it all. You wonder if Joy expected that you weren't coming, or if she waited and hoped for you - for someone - _anyone_ to save her.

You wonder if Joy was scared, and begin to cry.

* * *

"I suppose it's fair," hummed the person who you've never seen before in your life. Up close you could smell the strong, bitter scent of coffee and cigarettes. He was tall, dressed in an obsidian blazer and had a silver watch strapped around his wrist. A spitting image of a stereotypical wealthy businessman. There's a winding air about the way the man held his form.

Did Joy ever know someone like this?

The man introduces himself to you and says hello. You greet the man back stiffly, and from the back of your head, _Joy_ reminds you to make eye contact with the person you are talking to, otherwise it would be rude. You raise your head but his eyes didn't meet yours. They focused on a point somewhere past your shoulders. You dismissed the urge to turn around.

He talks, but not about Joy.

What a shame it was, she was a beautiful girl, she was so young.. the man keeps all of the useless, meaningless words you have already been told today out of conversation and talks instead of a fountain he wants to install in the Parlour.

He says. "I have a place not far from here. It's a small office that used to be for my brother, but he's out of the country now. You could move in.. go to school, make some friends.."

Time slows down to a _\- tick. tick. tick.-_ as your mind processes what he's said and what he's offering.

You weren't an idealist. You weren't Joy; a dreamer, a believer who prayed faithfully even when stranded at the bedrock of society.

It was painful, knowing that you never fulfilled her dreams. At least, while she was still alive. But perhaps you could start _now_. Perhaps, you could receive an education and.. maybe, just maybe even a future in Divura - just like Joy wanted.

_But, why?_

"I'll give you some time," he leans down to caress your shoulders, chin on your shoulder, whispering into your ear as if to tell you a secret. "-to think about it, okay?"

_Okay._

"Okay," you repeat out loud, trying to grasp reality for the twentieth time that day. You bite as hard as you can, clench your fists tighter, and pray it's not too obvious. "I'll think about it. Thank you."

You left the frame leaning against the urn.

* * *

"Was your sister naturally blonde?"

The question caught you off guard. "No sir. It was dyed."

It went quiet for many seconds and you considered repeating yourself in case Uriel hadn't heard.

"It wa-"

"How was your relationship with your sister?"

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. "We.. weren't related by blood."

The man replies with a small 'hm', and goes silent again for a couple of minutes. You wonder how on earth such an idle man would have ever kept up with Joy's chatty trait. You face back forward.

"Were you aware that she was abusing narcotics?"

You must have heard him wrong; your head spun to find him looking straight back at you. It was probably the first time you've ever made eye contact with the man.

"Sex worker Mary Raein, age 21. Overdosed on _C_ _lay_. " Uriel continues, holding the cold, mutual stare with an unsettling smile. "With her naiveté I would have never guessed she was the junkie type. She had 5 shots on her right thigh."

If Uriel hadn't been looking for a reaction, it would have gone completely unnoticed. It was subtle, but your shoulders had definitely stiffened.

He leans in closer, a wide grin plastered on his face. "What do you think?"

"..I think you should watch the road."

"Hm." Uriel studies your face a bit before retracting, the monotone expression on his face again.

The interrogation had come to an end. You spend the rest of the journey facing the window, disturbed.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to leave a comment on your way out!


End file.
